


knowledge

by daisy_chains



Series: Merlin Fics [4]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode: s02e08 The Sins Of The Father, F/F, Fix-It, Gen, Minor Gwen/Morgana (Merlin), back on my quest to bury canon beneath my own ideas until i forget it exists, shows up more in the later chapters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2020-01-04 12:32:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18343766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daisy_chains/pseuds/daisy_chains
Summary: "Do not let this knowledge change you."





	1. knowledge

“You heard what my mother said! After everything he has done, do you believe he deserves to live? He executes those who use magic, and yet he has used it himself! You have caused so much suffering and pain. I will put an end to that.”

“‘Do not let this knowledge change you.’” Arthur pauses and Merlin pushes forward, determined. “Your mother said that, too, didn’t she? ‘Do not let this knowledge change you.’”

The servant takes a hesitant step forward, then another when the prince doesn’t react. 

“Do you truly believe your mother would wish for you to do this? To kill him? His death would bring about your reign, Arthur. Do you want your reign to be born of patricide and regicide? Would your mother?” The last question makes Arthur recoil, shying away from the chair upon which the king sits in a way Merlin has never seen from him before. 

“He - he has done unspeakable horrors. How can you tell me he does not deserve to suffer for his actions?” Arthur argues, but does not protest as his servant steps between him and his father, gently nudging his sword away. 

“Arthur,” he says quietly, “he is not worth dirtying your sword in such a way. If you choose to kill him, that is something you can never take back.” 

The prince shifts his gaze from Merlin’s and focuses on Uther’s, angry tears cascading down his cheeks. A moment passes, then another. Then, “you’re right.” 

The sword falls from Arthur’s grip and the servant steps around it carefully, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder as he guides the prince out of the room. As they leave, Arthur does not spare Uther another glance. 

Later, something will have to be done with this knowledge. But for now, there is only a son walking away from a shattered trust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> back on my neverending quest to chuck canon out a window for my own amusement


	2. lakeshore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She meets him at the shore of the lake.

Merlin doesn’t leave, and Arthur doesn’t have the heart to dismiss him. Arthur pretends not to notice how the servant bustles around the room, stealing glances at him every so often. 

“Sit down, Merlin,” he says. “Just - sit down.” 

“Yes, sire.” 

Arthur turns back to the reports sitting on his desk, reading through them half-heartedly. They’ll have to be reread later for him to make any real sense of them, but for now they provide a good distraction. 

Eventually, there are no reports left to read. 

“Merlin, do you think -?”

At some point, apparently, Merlin has fallen asleep. With a sigh, Arthur rises from his seat and grabs a pillow. 

“Idiot,” he mutters fondly, tucking the pillow under Merlin’s head. 

Without Merlin to talk to, Arthur finds himself at a bit of a loss. Should he go to bed? He doubts he’d do much more than roll around restlessly until the sun rises. Training, then? But it is late, and doing so now would only beg for questions he is not prepared to answer yet. Wandering the halls, too, would lead to questioning, and leaving the citadel would lead to nothing good, either. 

Arthur hesitates. 

Perhaps leaving the citadel would not be such a bad idea. After all, he has yet to thank Morgause for the opportunity to meet his mother. 

He’s barely made up his mind, yet his feet guide the way to the stables. The guards he passes, surprisingly, do not ask questions. It would not surprise him if Sir Leon warned them not to. 

No one protests as he leaves. 

⁋

She meets him at the shore of the lake. 

“I was not expecting you to return so soon,” she says, staring out over the water. 

“But you expected me back at some point?” He responds, uncertainty blooming in the back of his mind. Not even he had known he would return, so how could she?

“I was not sure, yet here you are.”

“Here I am,” he mutters in agreement as he moves to stand beside her. “I did not thank you earlier.”

“I believe we both know I did not act out of the kindness of my own heart, Arthur Pendragon.” 

“Perhaps not. Nevertheless, thank you.” Arthur traces his earlier path through the water with his eyes. Silence falls between the two, and Arthur isn’t sure how much time passes before he breaks it. “I know you wished to use my mother’s words to turn me against my father.”

Morgause turns, gaze unreadable as she observes him. 

“I can not kill him. I will not.” He hesitates. “I understand why you wish to see his downfall, or at least, I’m beginning to understand.”

“And what do you plan to do about it?” 

“I don’t know. He cannot be allowed to continue persecuting your kind as he has; I won’t allow it. And yet, he’s still king. What can I do that is not treason?” 

“I suppose that is a problem for you to solve.” 

Arthur knows a dismissal when he hears one. With a sigh and a short nod, he returns to his horse and mounts. 

“And Arthur? I look forward to seeing your solution.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> will likely continue this in the future, but marking this as complete for now.


	3. loyalty

The citadel is still silent and dark when Arthur arrives back. Sir Leon is there to greet him when he leads his horse into the stables, feeding his own horse an apple and speaking to it softly. 

Despite the stress of everything that has happened in the past day weighing down on him, Arthur can’t help but smile as his knight and friend presses a kiss to his horse’s forehead. Leon has always been softer around the animals, and it is the only time Arthur sees him so relaxed. 

“You spoil them,” Arthur remarks, though he snatches one of the apples from Leon’s bag and sets it aside. After all, his horse has been pushed far past its limits for the day, and as such, deserves a treat. Another day, maybe, he would’ve given his reasoning aloud in response to the knowing grin Leon sends in his direction, but not today. Instead, he focuses on removing the tack from his horse and ignoring the stare burning into the back of his head. 

“Arthur, I want you to know,” Leon says eventually, softness now edged with a seriousness Arthur has grown to fear on the worst of days, “that no matter what course of action you choose, I am by your side.” 

His heart stutters in his chest, and it takes him a moment to remember how to breathe. 

“Please don’t say that,” he whispers, unable to meet the knight’s eyes. “Please.” 

⁋

Life continues. Not as normal, since his normal has been stabbed, set on fire, then sent to the chopping block for good measure, but it continues nonetheless. 

He pretends Leon never said a word the night he arrived back in Camelot after visiting Morgause, pretends he has everything under control, pretends he has a plan, pretends he doesn’t know about Merlin sharing his worries about Arthur to Gaius and Gwen and Morgana. Most of all, he pretends his father hasn’t sent his world crashing down around him, pretends there aren’t moments he regrets not running him through when he had the chance. 

It’s a downward spiral. One that Arthur has no clue as to how to escape, and doesn’t know how to ask for help. 

When Morgana appears in his room one night, helping herself to the dinner Merlin had dropped off before being dismissed for the night, Arthur fully expects her to attempt to convince him to move against Uther. She doesn’t. 

“I know this is difficult,” she says instead, “and that I will never be able to fully understand what you’re going through, but I want you to know I am here for you. We are all here for you, Arthur.” 

Tears blur his vision, and he ducks his head away in a useless effort to escape unnoticed. Of course, she still sees. But before she can speak, before she can point out his weakness, he says what has been on his mind since he walked away from the throne room. 

"I know something needs to be done about the king, I _know_ , but how can I? Acting against him risks committing treason."

Morgana doesn't respond at first, allowing Arthur to gather his emotions and shove any physical evidence of them into a pit where none will see. He's sure Merlin would call it unhealthy, but at the moment he simply doesn't have the energy to deal with them properly. 

"You do what you can with your limited options, and you make yourself heard," Morgana says eventually. "The council may be full of men who think as Uther does, but they will not risk a war between king and prince. If there is unrest, they will likely persuade Uther to step down." 

It's still actively going against his father, but it's the best option he has. Arthur sighs.

"You're right," he responds, "but I'm not sure where to start."

"Well," Morgana says, a smirk evident in her voice even before he glances up to see her lips quirk. And this, the plotter, the fighter, the protester, is who he expected to see the instant she had stepped into his room. "Isn't that what I'm here for? If nothing else, I know how to cause a scene."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed this story's status from complete to incomplete (can you hear me weeping? cos I am.) because I do have a few more things I want to do with this au.


	4. king, once and future

It begins quietly, creeping into the unnoticed crevices that lace across the foundations of the kingdom. No one notices, at first. At least, no one without a reason to notice does. Those with ties to magic, who continuously glance over their shoulders even in the safety of their own homes, they notice. As do the druids who sneak into the markets for supplies, and the ones with too strange features that have whispers following them their whole lives. They notice, and they help. 

It begins quietly. It does not stay that way. 

An old woman is thrown in the dungeons, accused of witchcraft by her neighbor who mistook her saying hello to the stray cat that wanders past her house every morning just after sunrise for her whispering spells to her familiar. 

Uther sentences her to the pyre. Arthur wonders if it’s meant to be revenge on the woman who is out of reach. It’s been years since there’s been a pyre. 

Protestors flood the courtyard, flood the streets of the markets and close the citadel down for business. At their head is Morgana, daughter of Sir Gorlois and Lady Vivienne. And at her side is Arthur Pendragon, son of Uther, perhaps, but son of Ygraine de Bois as well.

 _Oh, haven’t you heard_ , whisper the onlookers, whisper the protestors who can’t help but shy away from people they were raised to distrust, _haven’t you heard, they are their mothers’ children. Their mothers knew the ancient tongue, their mothers knew better than to attempt to crush magic beneath their heel_. 

Morgana, daughter of the Lady Vivienne, High Priestess, smiles up from the courtyard to where Uther stands, observing. Her smile is dagger-sharp and deadly. She stands where the ashes of the fallen refuse to be cleaned from the stone, she echoes their screams in her chants. In one hand she holds a bracelet that sings with magic and whispers tales of previous wearers. With the other, she laces her fingers with her maid’s, her best friend’s. 

Arthur, son of Queen Ygraine de Bois, magic user, does not smile. He does not look up at the king. Instead, he stares out over the crowds gathered before him and grieves, for lives and opportunities lost, for wrongs committed against innocents, for those who are surviving without truly living. He meets the eyes wet with unshed tears and takes up Morgana’s chants, his voice trained for times like this, for being heard above a crowd and bolstering spirits. 

The knights do not dare test the crowds. Oh, they’ve been ordered to, there is no doubt there. The king has ordered, has screamed until he is red in the face, has threatened their lives and their reputations. Still, they do not act. The crowds have not committed any acts of violence, have broken no laws except to speak out against the king and his laws. The knights do not wish to risk being the ones to change that. 

And, for some, they do not wish to fight their brothers in arms. 

There are some knights, more than the king would ever admit to, who have shed their chainmail and cloak in favor of garb that makes them impossible to distinguish from the rest of the crowd. They, too, have their own secrets. Some with siblings hidden from the world, some with a talent for luck, some with swords that never dull. 

They look to their prince, their leader, their future king, and they echo his words, echo his encouragements and the Lady Morgana’s chants. They, too, have been trained for this. Perhaps this is not the battle ground they expected, but it is one they welcome nevertheless. 

On the outskirts of the crowds, those too ashamed but unable to resist the protestors’ siren call linger. The court physician is one of them, yes, but he is not the only. Council members whose pockets are lighter in the wake of a servant’s sudden disappearance, guards who looked the other way when foolish country boys snuck their kin out of the dungeon. 

There is nowhere one can be and not hear the protestors, _nowhere_. Below the castle, a golden-scaled beast wakes from a week-long sleep and cocks his head. His lips curl back in a pleased, almost disbelieving smile, revealing teeth as long as swords. Never have they looked so unthreatening. The last of his kind weeps, for change is on the air, but despite his shining tears, he, too, takes up a chant. 

It is one started by the Lady Morgana, future High Priestess, and taken up by many, including his own kin from where he stands at Arthur’s, the future king’s, shoulder. It is one that shakes the castle to its core, sending the council members, the ones not among the crowd, tumbling to the ground. 

_To kill one is to kill us all, how many more innocents must fall to the hands of Uther the Terrible_. 

Within the council chambers, lords scramble for a way to stop the noise, to stop their hearts from beating out of their chests from fear. The protestors will not be stopped, not now that they’ve shown their faces, shown their cards once and for all, and Uther is uncompromising even in the face of such masses. 

The council schemes and fears and trembles. Then, they come up with a solution. It is unsavory, tastes too much like defeat but too much like relief. 

Arthur, son of Queen Ygraine de Bois, is summoned. He will not meet where the people cannot see, so the council draw straws and send one of their own out to face the prince and the now deathly silent crowds. 

At Arthur’s right is a peasant boy with too old, too knowing eyes. His headspace is doubly occupied, shared with the keen interest of the last of his kind, determined to see this moment through. 

At Arthur’s left is the Lady Morgana, daughter of High Priestess Vivienne. Her dagger-sharp smile has not dulled one bit since its first appearance, the growing crowd sharpening it by the minute. She is the unlit pyre and the ashes of those who knew the flames, and she is their witness. 

The councilman’s voice trembles, wavers, breaks. Arthur’s does not. 

Eventually, Arthur turns his eyes upward, to the king. This is the first time he has done so, and it will be the last. 

Arthur turns to the crowd, nods once. Then, he turns to his right, then to his left. When he enters the castle, only their eyes follow him. He disappears into the castle and reappears at Uther’s side. Uther does not spare him a single glance. 

Then, Arthur speaks, and Uther screams. His screams that are not those of victory and relief. No, they are fierce and biting and meant to degrade the new king. Arthur does not falter. 

Uther the Terrible abdicates the throne. It is not voluntary, but Arthur, son of Queen Ygraine de Bois, has the whole of Camelot at his back and the spirits of those wronged and lost as his witness. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: *smacks my computer, open to the doc for this fic* this bad boy can fit so many headcanons in it
> 
> yea so I... really really loved writing this (I could talk for days about why but I'll spare you the giant chunks of text lmao) & I hope y'all enjoy


	5. legality

King Arthur of Camelot stands on the ramparts overlooking the Lower Town, fresh from another round of council meetings. It is tiring, and he would like nothing more than to be able to put them off, but their discussions are too important, too pressing, to avoid. 

It has been three months since he was crowned king, and yet magic has still not been officially deemed legal in accordance to Camelot’s laws. And it isn’t as though anyone among the new council is trying to slow the process. No, those who weren’t part of the protests, few as those are, fear the people too much to dare impede the changing of the laws. The problem is no one can agree on how to go about changing the law. 

There are too many questions and too few answers. There is no record of the laws to reference, no one alive and willing to speak to Uther the Terrible’s son about how life was before the purge. 

Once, and only once, Arthur had dared to question Uther about this. After all, he had been the one to start the purge, he must know what the laws were before he changed them and destroyed any hint of what might have been. The former king had been of no assistance. Other than that, Arthur preferred to ignore anything said on that occasion. 

That had been a month ago. Now, Arthur carves moments out of his schedule to escape up here, watch his people, and breathe. He’s sure someone, Merlin or Morgana, probably, has figured out where he disappears to every so often. They haven’t mentioned it to him, but he can tell from the narrowed, assessing stares he’s greeted with whenever he returns to the castle’s halls. 

There’s also the fact that no one comes up here at the same time he does. He’s sure it isn’t a coincidence, and he finds himself grateful for his friends’ support once again. 

So it’s surprising when he hears footsteps padding across brick behind him. 

Despite this, he remains silent, continuing to watch the lives of those in Camelot, those counting on him now, from above. 

“It’s quite beautiful up here,” the person says, voice low and familiar. Arthur inhales sharply, glances to the side and catches a wisp of blonde hair. 

“It is,” he responds, “though it is not a view I expected to share with you. What brings you back to Camelot, Morgause?”

“Is the news of Uther the Terrible being dethroned not reason enough?” She asks. “Even I could not resist returning to watch the birth of a new age.” 

Arthur hums in acknowledgement, then allows a silence to build between them. Morgause seems willing enough to simply watch over Camelot with him, and he is relieved, still not quite having shaken off the stress of this day, this week, this month. He doubts he ever fully will, but the break is still refreshing. 

The sun sinks lower and lower, painting the skies a myriad of colors. As the activity of Lower Town slows and stops for the night, Arthur stands from where he leaned against the rampart wall. 

“What do you plan to do while you’re here?” He asks, turning to face Morgause. She tilts her head, eyes still trained out over the horizon. 

“I’m not sure yet,” she answers. “Visit with the Lady Morgana, perhaps. Beyond that, I am as clueless as you.” 

“Clueless?” 

“I heard rumor that your efforts in changing the laws regarding magic have been stalled by your lack of knowledge.” 

Arthur huffs something vaguely resembling a laugh, but nods. “That rumor was correct. Uther destroyed as many records of life before the purge as he could get his hands on. If there are any that remain, they are too well hidden to be of any use to us.” 

“Perhaps,” Morgause says, slowly, as though she weighs the value of her next words even as she speaks them into being, “I could be of assistance in this regard.” 

“Oh?” Arthur nods toward the castle, an unspoken offer to continue this conversation indoors. 

“Yes.” Morgause smiles, a curious twist of her lips that offers neither warmth nor hostility. Still, she nods and begins walking back toward the door leading down into the castle halls, leaving Arthur trailing after her. “While I cannot speak for Camelot, I do know how other kingdoms incorporate the laws of magic into their everyday lives. I could share what I have seen from those kingdoms.” 

“Would you be willing to speak during council?” Arthur asks, and carefully does not question how Morgause leads the way back to his chambers as though she has the path memorized. “I believe we could all benefit from hearing this.” 

“Had I not been willing, I would not have offered.” This is the last she says until they reach Arthur’s rooms, at which point, she stops and looks at him. “Do you wish for me to tell you what I know prior to the council meeting?” 

At first, he wants to say no, wants to say it would do no good to hear the same information twice. Only, he realizes, that isn’t true, is it? If he listens to her words here, tonight, he can ask questions and learn details he may not be able to when having a group discussion. 

“Yes,” he says instead. “I would appreciate it.” 

Morgause nods again, then enters his rooms without so much as a by-your-leave. He has the faintest feeling that he passed a test of sorts, but shakes it off as he follows her through the doors, shutting them behind him and hesitating. 

“If you wish to lock them, I would not oppose it,” she says, eyes trained on him from where she stands at one end of the table. “It would be easier to have this discussion if we are not interrupted.” 

He locks the doors. Then he walks to the table, sits in the seat to the right of the head. Morgause blinks once, twice, and while he does not know her well enough to claim to be able to read her, he would almost dare to say he surprised her. She sits across from him. 

“Well, Arthur,” she says, “where do you wish to begin?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been looking forward to writing more Morgause, so I hope you all enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it


	6. celebration

Eight months after Arthur is crowned king, magic is legalized. 

Crowds flood the streets, screaming and crying and singing and chanting. It is a celebration, but edged with mourning. Many of those celebrating have lost people they cared about to Uther, people who should have been celebrating beside them. 

Arthur, against the advice of the older members of the council, joins the crowds. The instant he steps foot into the courtyard, Merlin flocks to his side, eyes burning gold and butterflies flitting around behind him as a flock of children chase after the insects, giggling all the while. 

“Was wondering when you’d make an appearance,” the warlock says, grinning so wide Arthur wouldn’t believe it was possible if he were not seeing it himself. “The Lower Town square’s been turned into a festival area of sorts, and some folks were asking around to see if you’d say a few words.” 

“What, my hour-long speech wasn’t enough?” Arthur responds, huffing in mock-exasperation, though he follows as Merlin turns and begins walking toward Lower Town. 

“Of course it wasn’t,” Merlin says, laughing. His eyes flare brighter for a moment, and the butterflies fly ahead, leading the children back toward their parents and allowing Arthur and Merlin a bit of privacy. Or, as much privacy as one can get when everyone has taken to the streets. “Your speech was formal, meant for the history books. It wasn’t… personal. When we were protesting, you were in the crowd with us, leading us. They just want something more like that.” 

Arthur doesn’t respond immediately, mind wandering back to that day, to the overwhelming sense of belonging that came with being _with_ his people rather than standing above them, looking down. Eventually, he clears his throat and says, “well, I’m sure I can come up with something.” 

Merlin laughs again, bright and joyful, more so than Arthur’s heard in all the time Merlin’s been in Camelot. Then, he nods toward the quickly approaching townsquare, gently nudging two people out of the way so Arthur can pass. 

The first to catch sight of the king, a baker who gave Arthur free treats when he snuck down from the castle as a child to escape lessons, smiles and shouts a greeting, alerting those around him. As more and more people become aware of his presence, a path is cleared to the center of the area set up for musicians. 

He turns to face the crowd, still buzzing with the hum of quiet conversations, and smiles.

“We did it.”

⁋

The instant he finishes speaking, someone pulls him back into the crowd and the musicians resume their playing. 

Arthur laughs, throwing his head back and letting his eyes fall shut. He’s holding hands with someone, he isn’t sure who, and he’s dancing, being passed from person to person, and everything is a blur, but he wouldn’t trade it for anything. 

This, all of this, makes every second of agonizing over laws and research and fine lines worth it. His people are free from the storm cloud that has been hovering over them since his birth, and so is he. 

He’s passed to another person, another partner, and he meets Merlin’s eyes, blue now, with another laugh. The stress from the past eight months sheds from his shoulders, and he stumbles forward, pulling Merlin into a hug. 

“I can hardly believe it,” he says, voice wavering. He doesn’t quite have the heart to force it under control. “We really did it.” 

Merlin’s arms tighten around him, grounding him. “Yes, we really did.” 

They linger for a moment, in the center of the chaos of dancing people, and take it all in. For the both of them, this is the first time they’ve been allowed to _breathe_ , to really relax and realize that everything will be alright. 

Someone trips, bumps into Arthur’s side, then moves on before he can react. 

“I suppose we should celebrate, then,” Arthur says, pulling away from the embrace. 

“It would be a shame to not take advantage of the free food,” Merlin responds, then nudges Arthur toward the edge of the square. “I think there’s someone here who wouldn’t mind dancing with you.” 

“Who -” 

Merlin disappears into the crowd. 

“Thanks, Merlin. So very helpful.” Still, Arthur makes his own way out of the crowd, eyes scanning the few clusters of people standing off to the side, laughing and talking. Eventually, he spots Morgause standing beside Morgana and Guinevere. 

He shifts his course toward them, waving to Morgana as she spots him approaching. 

“Ah, Arthur! Lovely speech,” Morgana says. “I thought you’d disappeared again once you were finished.” 

“No, someone pulled me into the dancing, and I didn’t get the chance to escape ‘til now.” He doesn’t mention that he wouldn’t have tried to get away even if he could, but Morgana’s grin softens a bit as if she hears what’s left unspoken. “Have you been standing here the whole time?” 

“Oh, no,” Guinevere says, and Arthur doesn’t miss how her hand is clasped in Morgana’s, fingers intertwined. “We were dancing for a while, but saw Morgause standing on her own and stopped to chat.” 

Guinevere’s smile broadens, hardens a bit, and Arthur knows better than to ignore the silent suggestion. 

“I’m glad you two are enjoying yourselves.” Then, he meets Morgause’s eyes and grins. “Now, if you two don’t mind, I was hoping to steal Morgause for a while.” 

“Of course not,” Morgana responds. “Besides, I think I see Merlin over there. We better go make sure he doesn’t steal all the pastries before anyone else gets the chance to have some.” 

Guinevere laughs, nodding as Morgana tugs her away. 

Arthur watches them, taking a few steps back until he can lean against the outer wall of a house beside Morgause. 

She doesn’t say anything, and he doesn’t push her. Instead, he turns his attention toward the musicians once he loses sight of Morgana and Gwen. 

At some point, Morgause shifts so they stand shoulder-to-shoulder. 

“I knew the prophecies about you,” Morgause says, voice low, “but I never quite believed them to be possible.” 

He hums quietly, turning his head to the side slightly. As he watches her out of the corner of his eye, Morgause frowns, glancing at the ground. 

“After all, you are a Pendragon. Why would you be any different from your father?” Morgause turns to him. “You proved me wrong, and I am glad you did.” 

Sighing, Arthur shifts so he is leaning his shoulder against the wall, fully facing Morgause. “As am I. If you hadn’t summoned my mother… I’m not sure if my opinion on magic would ever have changed. And that is terrifying to think about, considering all I know now.” 

Morgause nods, frown deepening for a moment before it disappears behind a mask of indifference. “Fortunately, we do not live in a world where that did not happen. It’s better to not dwell on the what-ifs.” 

“Speaking from experience, are you?” 

She huffs, a hint of a smile on her lips as she nods. After a moment, she turns away from him and returns her attention to the crowd. 

Arthur doesn’t move. 

One moment passes, then another. 

“What is it, Arthur?” 

Pushing off from the wall, Arthur takes a few steps toward where quite a lot of people are still dancing to the music, the musicians no longer present but a soft golden glow surrounding the instruments as they hover a short distance above the ground and continue to play. He extends a hand to Morgause. 

“Care to dance? After all, this is a time to celebrate.” 

Morgause glances at Arthur’s hand, face unreadable. Then, she takes his hand. 

“Step on my feet and I’ll skin you alive,” she says, though she allows him to lead her toward the center of the square. 

Arthur laughs. “I don’t doubt it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! it's been a bit, but this is still my favorite fic to write.
> 
> also! I've made series for each fandom I write for and added all my fics to the appropriate series, so if anyone wants to be updated on my fics from specific fandoms but not others, feel free to check those out. I decided that since I'm started to branch out to more fandoms (though I haven't posted fics from all of them yet lol), it would be a good idea to do this. it's something a few authors I really enjoy also do, and I'm subscribed to a few of their series rather than them, so figured I could take a page from their book.


	7. anniversary (epilogue)

“Uncle!” 

Arthur turns, tuning out the councilman beside him in favor of scooping up the young girl barreling toward him and twirling her around. 

“Hello, Muriel,” he says. “Did you get a break from lessons today or should I expect your mothers to track me down, yelling at me for preventing your learning?” 

“Lessons ended for today,” Muriel says, grinning brightly. “‘Cause Uncle Merlin agreed to pack food for the picnic, and he’s supposed to pick up… something from Lower Town, I dunno what.” 

“Oh?” Arthur pauses, biting back a curse. “Wait, the picnic’s today? I thought it was tomorrow.” 

“Sire -” 

“We can continue this later, Lord Thomas. For now, I have a family matter to attend to.” With that, Arthur turns his attention back to Muriel. “Who’re you supposed to be with, then? You didn’t run off, did you?” 

Muriel pouts, scrunching her nose up. “I haven’t run off since I was _six_.”

Arthur hums and nods, knowing better than to point out that her seventh birthday had been a month ago and a month before that, she had run away from her tutors everyday for a week. 

“My apologies,” he says instead. “So, did Uncle Merlin send you to find me?” 

“Uh huh. He said you wouldn’t remember the picnic.” Muriel bounces in his arms, grin returning. “He was right.” 

“Alright, alright, maybe he was. But you’re not to tell him that, understood?” 

“Only ‘cause you let me turn your hair pink for Mum and Momma’s anniversary.” 

"Fair enough," he says. “Should we go find Aunt Morgause? We could spend some time with her before we’re meant to meet your mothers and Merlin at the stables.” 

“She told me I could braid her hair today!” Muriel says, kicking her feet lightly. Arthur takes that as agreement.

“Well, we should find her and let you work your magic,” he replies, and he can’t help but grin as she bursts into giggles. “Though perhaps limit the magical involvement. I don’t believe Aunt Morgause would appreciate pink hair nearly as much as I did.” 

“Pink’s not her color,” she says seriously. “But red is.” 

Arthur hesitates, unable to respond as he bites back a laugh. Instead, he nods, beginning the walk to Morgause’s chambers. 

⁋

Half way through the walk to Morgause’s chambers, Muriel has Arthur put her down, and she races ahead of him, shouting something about a race. 

“Oh, you little cheater!” Arthur calls after her, laughing as he picks up the pace. 

He stays a few steps behind her as they run up the stairs, then, as they round the corner leading to Morgause’s door, he rushes forward and scoops the girl into his arms. 

Shrieking happily, Muriel kicks her legs and tries to wriggle her way out of his hold. 

The door creaks open, revealing a severely unimpressed Morgause. But when Muriel spots her, she smiles.

“Hello, little one.” 

“Aunt Morgause!” She squeals, and races over to the woman the instant Arthur sets her down. 

Morgause crouches down to hug her, laughing quietly. 

“You’re very excited to see me, considering we ate breakfast together not four hours ago,” Morgause says, drawing back in order to meet Muriel’s gaze. 

“Yeah, but you said I could braid your hair today,” Muriel replies, eyes wide and hopeful as she stares at Morgause. 

“I did say that, didn’t I,” Morgause says slowly, and Arthur can hear the tinge of regret in her voice. Still, she continues smiling and continues on. “And I’m not one to break a promise. So you can braid my hair, and if my hair is still the same color it is now by the time you’re finished, I can show you a few spells.”

“Could you show me the one you used to make Mum’s hair be all spiky for a week?” 

“I could do that.” Morgause grins, and Arthur takes a moment to send a brief prayer to every god he’s heard of that he won’t become a test subject for any spells today.

 _Damn_ , Arthur thinks, watching as Muriel agrees to the arrangement and following the two into Morgause’s chambers, _how am I the only one with no way out of having my hair turned a different color_?

Still, as he settles down in a chair at Morgause’s table, not far from where Morgause and Muriel have settled on the floor, he finds he doesn’t have much to complain about. 

⁋

By the time noon rolls around and they’re on their way toward the stables, Morgause is sporting a lovely braid, and Arthur is regretting his life choices. 

As he trails behind Morgause and Muriel, who discuss more advanced spells that affect one’s appearance, he glares at anyone who dares to eye his now pink and now _spiky_ hair for more than a second. 

It doesn’t help that Morgause is leading them through the most populated halls of the castle. He knows it’s on purpose.

Fortunately, it doesn’t take long to reach the stables. 

Unfortunately, Merlin is the first person to spot him, Guinevere and Morgana busy greeting their daughter, and Merlin’s face lights up with wicked glee. 

“I see you did something new with your hair,” Merlin says, and his grin is so wide, Arthur is sure it must hurt. “Pink hair wasn’t enough?” 

Behind him, Morgana and Guinevere catch sight of Arthur’s hair, as well. 

“I think you need to talk to your sister about encouraging your daughter to try new spells on unwilling bystanders,” he says, ignoring Morgana’s broad smirk as he stares at her. 

“Hmm, yes,” Morgana agrees. “But I believe you’ll be the exception to that rule.” 

“Besides,” Guinevere says, and she, too, has a mischievous glint in her eye that Arthur has learned to fear, “you _love_ when Muriel does your hair, you’re hardly _unwilling_.” 

She’s not wrong, not that Arthur would ever admit to it. So, he changes the subject.

“Well, are we going to head out?” He asks, and continues to ignore Morgana’s smirk and Guinevere’s too-innocent smile and Merlin’s grin and Morgause’s not-quite-hidden amusement. “I believe we have a picnic to eat, and I haven’t had any food today.” 

“Oh, please,” Morgana says. “I saw you sneaking food out of the kitchen this morning. And it’s _our_ anniversary, if I’m not mistaken, so let us enjoy this.” 

Arthur grumbles beneath his breath, but doesn’t protest anymore. It’s not as though this is an argument he can win, anyway. 

But Guinevere decides to have mercy on him, and lifts Muriel into her arms, saying, “He does have a point. I, for one, am starving, and Merlin’s nicked a cake from the kitchens, too.” 

“I did not steal the cake!” Merlin protests. “The chef _likes_ you two, I didn’t have to steal anything.”

“I’m sure,” Guinevere says, sarcasm obvious to even little Muriel, who giggles at her uncle’s expense. 

Merlin squacks indignantly, but his grin has yet to fade. He disappears into the stables for a moment, then returns with Guinevere and Morgana’s horses, fully tacked and ready to go. Two more trips, and soon everyone is mounted, a steady stream of banter still flowing through the air. 

As they set off, Arthur falls quiet, struck with the feeling there’s no place he’d rather be. 

⁋

The picnic is a quiet and peaceful affair, the banter from earlier falling away to more serious, more sincere topics. 

Muriel grows bored of the adults’ conversation, so they take turns entertaining her. Merlin and Morgause show her a few small magic tricks, and Guinevere allows her to braid her hair _and_ turn it a lovely purple color. Morgana also lets her braid her hair, but insists on keeping her natural color. 

Arthur, his hair already done being messed with for the week, tells stories from his childhood, the rare moments of happiness that remain untainted by more recent memories. 

Eventually, Muriel tires herself out, and curls up between Guinevere and Morgana, her head on Guinevere’s lap and her feet pressed against Morgana’s thigh. 

“She lasted longer than I thought she would,” Guinevere says, voice soft as she runs a hair over Muriel’s loose braid. 

Morgana hums quietly, eyes shifting between her wife and her daughter slowly before eventually settling on Guinevere. 

“Happy anniversary, my love,” she says. 

Guinevere meets Morgana’s gaze, and Arthur turns away. It’s to personal, too intimate a moment for him to watch. 

Instead, he looks toward Merlin, whose gaze is locked on Morgause, and the unfocused haze in his eyes gives away his private conversation with Morgause. 

After a moment, his focus returns and he meets Arthur’s eyes with a brief grin. Then, he glances toward Morgana and Guinevere and clears his throat. 

“We - uh - we got something for you,” Merlin says, keeping his voice low as though afraid to ruin the two’s shared moment. 

A moment passes before either of them look toward Merlin. But once they do, he reaches into the bag behind him and pulls out something wrapped in a cloth, about the size of his palm. 

Morgana takes it from him and places it in her lap, gently unwrapping the cloth to reveal two bracelets. They’re simple golden bands, but they glow slightly in the dimming evening light. 

“Merlin and I spent a long time working on this spell,” Morgause says, gesturing toward the bracelets. “When you are both wearing them, you will be able to touch your bracelet, and the other will feel it.” 

Guinevere inhales sharply, and lifts one of the bracelets off of Morgana’s lap slowly, reverently. Then, she puts it on her right wrist, and Morgana follows suit, except on her left. 

They share a glance, and Guinevere nods slightly. 

Morgana places her thumb against the bracelet, and Guinevere gasps, eyes wide. Half a second later, and she’s mirrored Morgana. The awestruck look on Morgana’s face is priceless, and she leans forward to press a brief kiss to Guinevere’s lips. 

“I hope the designs are to your taste,” Morgause says, a faint smile of amusement on her face as she glances in Arthur’s direction. “We left Arthur unsupervised when he picked them out.” 

“They’re _perfect_ ,” Guinevere says, restraining herself from leaping forward to hug all of them, mindful of the head on her lap. Instead, she reaches her hands forward, and clasps one of Morgause’s and Arthur’s in each of hers. “Thank you.” 

Morgana murmurs a quiet agreement, one hand resting on Guinevere’s back while the other reaches toward Merlin to hold one of his hands, as well. 

“The spellwork is amazing,” she adds. “You’ll have to show me how it works.” 

“Of course,” Merlin replies. 

Morgause nods, adding, “We’d be happy to.” 

The five of them stay like that for a while, hands clasped and basking in one another’s presence. 

A leg brushes against his, and he leans to the side, resting his shoulder against Morgause’s and clasping her free hand in his.

It’s perfect, and if he could, Arthur would freeze this moment forever. But he can’t, so he squeezes the hands in his lightly and doesn’t let go, committing every detail to memory. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's a roughly four year gap between this chapter and last chapter. i didn't really feel the need to include more information about that gap here, but if anyone does want to know more, lmk and i'd be happy to talk a bit about it. 
> 
> that aside, hi, i finished this??? i stayed up till three am to finish it and it was so worth it holy crap i love this fic so much it's insane. this is my favorite thing of mine to go back and reread, and now i don't have to go "ok but where's the rest - wait oh shit i have to write it" lmao. also, this is definitely not beta read cos my reader is asleep like a person with common sense should be, but it will be read and edited shortly, probably tomorrow. 
> 
> thank you all for reading and commenting and/or giving kudos! your support definitely helped me stay motivated to finish this, and i hope you enjoyed it as much as i did!


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